Riding between the infantry squares, Matt shouted orders. When he couldn’t be heard, he gestured, making sure the men understood. At the second cavalry charge his horse was shot from under him. Rolling off to safety, he scrambled to his feet and ran, dodging bullets, to where a French cavalry horse stood, his rider dead, tangled in the reins at his forelock.
He shoved the body aside and leapt on. He dug his spurs sharply into the horse’s sides, for he had the most forward regiment to alert. Thank God it was Kendall’s so they recognized him even on a horse with French insignia. The front rank lowered their bayonets and the second rank ducked as he jumped over them into the shrinking center. Inside the square the stench of powder and burnt cartridge paper was overpowering. Piles of dead littered the ground and the field doctor labored over an officer whose blood soaked into the grass around him.
Realizing it was Kendall, Matt ran to kneel beside him.
The merry green eyes were dull with pain. “Matt, thank God you’re here,” Kendall gasped. Weak fingers covered with blood grasped Matt’s sleeve. “My juniors all dead. Don’t let my men lose heart, Matt.”
“They will stand, Kendall, I promise.” He squeezed his friend’s hand, and with a sigh, Kendall closed his eyes.
Matt stood and glared at the doctor. “Do not let Lord Kendall die!”
The blood-and dirt-streaked face stared back at him. “His wounds are grievous, my lord.”
“He will live, do you understand!” Matt commanded.
Finally the doctor nodded. “Yes, my lord. I will do my best.”
For a heartbeat Matt was back at Fort McHenry with Jeffries dying, his body protecting Matt from the enemy; Higgens rising up with his last breath to rally the men; his men moaning in death all around him. For what purpose? He understood now, for Serena had helped him find his way. Serena. There was so much left unsaid.
Holding the thought of Serena, he rallied the men with cries of home, bolstering their courage.
As each man fell, the square tightened, leaving no place open. The front rank knelt, the butt of their muskets on the ground, bayonets in place to slash at the cavalry horses; the two ranks behind with muskets poised and loaded, ready to fire and reload alternately, had already thinned out. Matt urged the front man to reload for the man behind him.
The cavalry charged a third time, but Picton’s regulars held. By nightfall Quatre Bras was declared a stalemate. Matt didn’t question the grievous loss. He knew its purpose. They had delayed just long enough to take the wind out of ol’ Boney’s sneak attack and allow the duke to find his ground.
Kendall lived still, although his gray color beneath the bloody sandy curls sent cold dread to coil tightly around Matt’s heart.
“I won’t let you die, Kendall,” he promised, but his friend couldn’t hear him.
The doctor, however, did. “If you wish Lord Kendall to survive, we must get him to Brussels immediately.”
“Keep him safe,” Matt demanded. “I shall return.”
Wellington had set up headquarters at Genappe between Quatre Bras and La Haye Sainte. It was there Matt presented his report and stood with Uxbridge as Wellington spread out the map.
“Picton must fall back from Quatre Bras because Blücher and the Prussians have retreated eighteen miles to Wavre. We will have to stop the French here.” With a pen he circled a spot beyond Mont St. Jean called Waterloo. “Here is where we shall meet,” he declared. “Blackwood, notify Picton to fall back. He won’t be pleased.”
“I shall leave as soon as a fresh mount can be saddled. However, I request a wagon. Kendall has fallen. I want him sent back to Brussels without delay.”
Wellington shook his head, the piercing eyes studying Matt’s face. “Kendall down! A good man. He’ll be missed. Take what you need. Enter!” he barked to a knock at the door.
Shock rooted Matt to the spot as his brother strode into the room. “Long, what do you here!”
“Sorry, Blackwood, forgot to tell you the marquess brought dispatches from London for me. Could use your services a bit more, Longford. Seems my communication system has broken down. Need a swift, steady rider along the right flank tomorrow. Think your brother can handle it, Blackwood? Not a soldier, after all.”
Matt stared at Long’s impassive face. “My brother is the finest horseman in all of England.” “I know.” The duke laughed, slapping Longford soundly on the back. “I’ve won a monkey half a dozen times myself on you at White’s.”
“Then Your Grace must be aware the betting book at White’s predicts I shall meet my end on one of my wild horses,” Long drawled, flicking the duke a hooded glance.